this peculiar place where hope is not for fools
by wild wolf free17
Summary: The ex-Winter Soldier is adopted by two civilians. The result is heartbreaking fluff.
1. Night 1

Title: this peculiar place where hope is not for fools

Disclaimer: the narrator isn't mine; title from Matilyn Singer

Warnings: post-Cap 2 by a few months; references, of course, to torture/trauma/brainwashing/violence; past child abuse; references to past rape

Pairings: OFC/OFC, Steve/Bucky

Rating: PG

Wordcount: WIP

Point of view: third

Prompt: any, any, Neverwinter

Note: on A03, there are links to certain things sprinkled throughout the texts. alas, that cannot be done here. I'll tell you, this, though - the OCs are cast as Octavia Spencer and Melissa Ponzio.

* * *

He breathes.

_He_ breathes. He _breathes_.

"Hey, sweetie, you okay?" he hears. The speaker does not come closer. "Only, you look kinda fucked. You in that mess downtown?"

'That mess downtown' being another Hydra safehouse torn apart by Hydra's greatest weapon.

He does not say, "I am functional." He does not say, "I am unharmed."

He says, "'m'fine," and huddles deeper into the stolen coat, against the dirty wall.

"Yeah, I'm doubtin' that," the speaker says. He peers out of the coat to see a dark-skinned woman pantomiming something to a Hispanic woman before the dark-skinned woman crouches down.

It is snowing lightly. He has learned over the past months that he hates the cold. He cannot return to where he had stored all of his supplies because two people escaped the Hydra safehouse. He examines both women carefully but they are not Hydra. He would know.

"Look, honey," the crouching woman says while the one still standing rolls her eyes, "you could use some help, right? It's gonna be cold tonight."

He flinches. He cannot control it.

"Yeah, it's awful," she says. She sounds… gentle. Like the way that civilian from two states ago talked to the dog whining in the road. He had watched the man convince the dog to hobble to his car and then followed as the man brought the dog to a clinic and carried the whimpering animal in. He stayed until the man left, carrying the dog (with a cast on its left hind leg) and promising it a good, lazy life. Gentle.

No one in his memory has spoken to him _gently_.

"There's a shelter I know of," the woman says. "Will you let me take you there?"

He has been in three shelters. They are too loud. Too many smells. Too many people he could hurt, who could –

He closes his eyes to avoid the woman's eyes and says, "No." His voice trembles. His body.

"Alright, honey, that's fine," she says soothingly. "But I can't just leave you here. I can't have you freezing to death on my conscience, you know?"

"Tai," the other woman says, "we're gonna be late, babe."

He keeps his eyes closed so he doesn't have to watch them walk away.

But the women do not walk away. "I'm Tai Jones," the one still crouching tells him. "She's Angelique Reyes. I figure you don't have anywhere to go or you'd be there. Can you tell me why you don't want to go to the shelter?"

He opens his eyes. He looks at her. "Too loud," he says. "People."

She nods. Her lips turn upward in a small smile. People don't smile at him.

"Well, how about this, then," she says. "For tonight, we bring you home with us."

"Tai!" Angelique Reyes says sharply. He knows that tone. He heard a man using it on a little girl three cities ago. His handlers and the techs used it on him.

He shifts, preparing to get between them if Angelique Reyes tries to hurt Tai Jones but Tai Jones says, "Oh, no, baby, Angel won't hurt me, I promise."

Angelique Reyes says, "What?" while his eyes widen and he shrinks back against the wall. How did she know?

"My daddy was in Vietnam," she says, rearranging herself so that she's sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk. "And then my brother was in the first Iraq war. I figure you were a soldier, right?"

He flinches again. "Don't call me that," he begs, though begging has never worked, not in his memory.

"Shit," Angelique Reyes says. "Fine, fuck."

"Thank you, dear," Tai Jones says, eyes still on him. "Look, we've got a guestroom. Clean sheets. A warm shower. Lots of food."

"You don't know me," he says. "I hurt people."

Her smile is – there was a man, once. He smiled like that. He smiled at _him_ like that. "You're right," Tai Jones agrees. "I don't know you. But I'm a social worker, you see, and I can't walk away from this. There are so many times I haven't been able to help, and it burns me, deep down in my soul. But you, honey?" There are tears in her eyes. "You, even if it goes badly, I can at least get out of the cold for one night."

"I don't want to hurt people," he confesses. He's never said it before. No one was listening before.

"Come home with us," Tai Jones says. "We can plan tomorrow. Find you somewhere you wanna go."

There was a man, once. He only ever wanted to be near the man.

Angelique Reyes sighs heavily. "I'll call Nancy, let her know we won't make it. And if we wake up dead, I'm blaming you, Tai."

"We won't wake up dead," Tai Jones says, still smiling. "Will we, honey?"

He shakes his head. He does not want to hurt these women.

He _won't_ hurt these women.

"I'm gonna stand up now," Tai Jones informs him. "Can you stand?"

He breathes. He stands. He follows.

.

Tai Jones leads him to the relieving and bathing facilities, saying, "Angel's gonna get us some food, sweetie. How about you get clean while we wait?" She flicks on the light and he stares – the walls are a soft blue with bright fish swimming and he feels… at ease. Never has he felt like this. Calm.

"There you go," Tai Jones murmurs. "You know how to work a faucet?"

He nods, reaching out to touch one of the fish.

"Okay, that's good. How about you take a shower while I straighten up the guestroom for you?" Tai Jones says. He knows it's an order, but – no handler has ever sounded so warm. So kind.

He nods again and begins removing his clothing, which is torn and filthy.

"Hey, whoa, wait a minute," Tai Jones exclaims. He ceases all motion, head ducked, eyes down. He has already decided to cause no harm.

"Hey, it's alright," she says gently, the way that civilian spoke to the dog. "I just – honey, is that blood?"

There is blood on the shirt. His torso has already healed, and most of the blood had not been his. He does not look up.

Tai Jones says, "That's a neat prosthetic." He flicks the metal fingers, clenches them. His arm whirs as it resets. He hears the high-pitched whine that means something is malfunctioning but there is no one he will allow to repair it.

"Okay, honey, can you look at me?" Tai Jones asks. He lifts his gaze to her chin. "Oh, kiddo, c'mon." He meets her eyes. "There you are," she says. "I don't know who you are, or where you've been, or what happened to you. I know there's been a lot of pain and I am so sorry. But you're safe here, I promise." He drops his gaze. She sighs. "Take your shower, baby," she says. "We'll talk over dinner."

Tai Jones pulls towels from a cabinet to set them on the toilet lid and tells him, "Use the robe on the hook. I have some of my brother's clothes for you – he left 'em after his last visit. If you like, I'll wash yours."

He is still holding his shirt. He stole it five states ago, the jeans three before that. His supplies, which included five more shirts and jeans, is lost, now. His boots are the ones his handlers dressed him in for the failed mission. He has no weapons here beyond the arm and himself.

He knows an order when he hears it. He holds out the shirt; she takes it carefully and he bends to remove his boots. "Oh, sweetie," she sighs as he removes his jeans and holds them out as well. He is completely bare, as he has not been since his handlers prepped him for the failed mission.

Tai Jones says, "Take your shower, honey." Her smile – he remembers one like it, from – long long ago? A man, fragile, important. Smiled. Called him the name the target said was his, that the museum said was his.

Tai Jones, as she closes the door, says, "Wash everywhere, honey. You'll feel better."

He steps into the bathtub, pulls the curtain, examines the knobs and faucet, and turns on the water so hot it burns. He stands beneath the spray, letting the heat spread. There is soap; he utilizes it for his skin and his hair, which has grown so long as to be unwieldy. Once he has washed every part of him three times, he feels – satisfied. That is the word. Like when he once completed a mission and his handler had said, "Good job." Long long ago. He is clean but he stays under the water, tucked in, letting it flow down his back, soak in his hair. It is so _warm._

When it begins to cool, he turns it off, pulls back the curtain, and steps from the tub. He dries his skin with the towels but his hair still drips, so after he pulls on the robe, he drapes a towel across his shoulders.

The door is closed. He listens carefully: Tai Jones and Angelique Reyes are talking in Spanish and things are clinking – plates? Silverware? And something smells… good. He has been eating food retrieved from dumpsters and cans stolen from gas stations, drinking from water fountains and public access sinks. None of it has smelled pleasant. What his handlers fed him did not smell at all, and often he was hooked to bags of liquid instead of eating actual food.

He is hungry. He opens the door.

.

The food is something Tai Jones calls 'barbeque.' He sits at the place Tai Jones indicates is for him and stares at the containers – it is brown meat and thick potatoes and a sweet smell. Tai Jones holds out an empty plate and says, "Take whatever you want, honey."

He chooses the closest piece and sets it on the plate. His fingers are covered in the sauce; he wipes them with a napkin but some of the sauce drips onto Tai Jones' brother's gray pants – the softest material he can remember on his skin, except for the towels Tai Jones ordered him to use. He stares at the sauce and then as covertly as he can tries to remove it with another napkin.

"It's fine," Tai Jones says. "Don't worry about the mess, sweetie. Eat."

He eats. It tastes… pleasing.

Tai Jones and Angelique Reyes talk in English throughout the meal: he files all the data away for later review and does not respond except when Tai Jones asks, "You enjoyin' it, honey?"

"Yes," he says without looking up from his plate. When he finishes the first piece, he slowly reaches for another and when neither of them forbids it, takes the meat.

"When's the last time you ate?" Tai Jones asks.

Three days ago. But his mouth is full so he moves his shoulders in a fashion he does not understand but Tai Jones seems to because she sighs. "Alright," she says.

There is a glass of water to the right of the plate Tai Jones gave him. He is thirsty. He looks at the glass for thirty-eight seconds and then glances up at Tai Jones, who is eating beans with a fork, and Angelique Reyes who is cutting into a piece of – chicken? Chicken with a fork and a knife. They both have glasses, too, though the liquid in them is dark and bubbly. He looks back at the water.

He is thirsty. He should ask – he is to always ask the handlers before doing anything unless on a mission, when he is to correctly anticipate everything that might happen and prepare in advance a multitude of plans to follow.

There is no mission now beyond 'destroy Hydra to the utmost extent' and 'do not get captured.'

"How you doin', kiddo?" Tai Jones asks. "You full?"

He is thirsty. He carefully grabs the glass of water and drains it down.

"You want some more?" Angelique Reyes asks. It is the first time she has addressed him at all.

He says, "Yes." He wants more water. He wants more food. He wants – the man who once called him that name and was so important.

He cannot have that man. But he can have more water: Angelique Reyes stands, reaches for the empty glass, carries it into the kitchen. He cannot see but follows the actions by sound as she opens something, pours water into the glass, closes something, and comes back into the dining area, where she sets the glass in front of him.

He looks up at her as she sits back down. Her eyes are dark and she smiles at him. Not like Tai Jones, like the man. But a smile. He knows the words to say but has not ever said them.

He says them now. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replies.

.

When he no longer feels hungry, he sets his hands on his thighs and looks down at the plate. "You done?" Tai Jones asks after a moment, interrupting her conversation with Angelique Reyes about Nancy's party that they have missed.

"Yes," he says.

His body does not hurt but aches everywhere. He knows pain; currently, he does not feel it. But he is tired. He does not remember ever being awake long enough to feel tired. He thinks that is the accurate descriptor.

"You wanna rest?" Tai Jones asks.

His handlers, Hydra – they had agents who could read minds. He remembers – two times ago? Three? His handler was younger, then, but he ordered that The Telepath be brought to read the asset, to assure that everything worked properly. He remembers, in what he knows now is _his_ mind, what should be his and no one else's, he remembers hearing another's voice, "Oh, you sorry bastard, what they've done to you. It's amazing."

And The Telepath told the handler, "Completely empty, sir. Almost like I'd done it myself."

"Are you telepathic?" he asks Tai Jones now, bringing his gaze up to her chin. He doesn't want anyone in his head but him, not ever again. But. There is no way to say that, yet. He can barely think it.

"No, not really," Tai Jones says after a moment. "I can feel things, sometimes. Get a sense about what's gonna happen." She chuckles softly. "Like, tonight? We'd planned on going a different way, but I knew I had to walk down that street, even though the temperature was droppin' fast and we shoulda caught a cab."

He doesn't know how to ask if she's in his mind. He looks back down at his plate.

Tai Jones asks, "You remember where the guestroom is?" and he nods. "Okay, then. If you wanna go lay down, go ahead. It's fine. We'll talk in the morning, honey."

He shouldn't leave a mess. The plate, the glass. Witnesses to his existence. But he has chosen to cause no harm here, and she has ordered that he rest. Recharge. So he stands and leaves the room. Down the bright green hall, with pictures that he files away for later review, a dark brown carpet. The guestroom is the same shade of blue as the bathing facilities, though this time without the fish. He wishes it had fish. He… _likes_ looking at the fish.

The pants are loose enough to sleep in, as is the shirt. He does not know who the Wisconsin Badgers are, but their shirt is comfortable and soft and warm. The creature on it seems unrealistic but that does not affect the shirt's functioning.

He lies down on the bed. Shivers. There are blankets beneath him and – he glances towards the door, which he closed but dared not lock. He rolls to the side and pulls the blanket down so that he can slide under it. He shivers again, so he undoes the next layer, as well. He does not shiver again.


	2. Morning 1

He wakes up, so he must have been asleep. Tai Jones and Angelique Reyes are speaking in Spanish in the kitchen. He listens without moving for five minutes exactly. Angelique Reyes has chosen not to go in to work. Tai Jones has emailed her assistant that she will not be in today. Their friend Nancy left a very rude voicemail early this morning, though both of them find it amusing rather than offensive.

He is warm. Only his left torso aches now. He is hungry and something smells _very _pleasing. He has never smelled something so pleasant. It makes him – _want._ He pushes the blankets off and goes to the relieving facility.

Angelique Reyes and Tai Jones murmur to each other as he finishes, washes his hands, spends 168 seconds examining fifteen of the fish on the wall, and silently walks to the kitchen. The smell strengthens; his mouth waters. Is this… desire? He wants so sharply it hurts in his – torso? Abdomen? The man who was small, _important,_ he hears, 'C'mon, Buck, we got plenty – fill your belly.' What is a belly?

"Hey, good mornin'!" Tai Jones says brightly. "Angel made cinnamon rolls. You hungry?"

"… yes?" he says, eyes on the platter on the counter.

Last night, Angelique Reyes wore dark trousers and a bright green long-sleeved blouse, with a heavy coat over it. Tai Jones wore a long red skirt, a silver blouse, and an ankle-length black coat. This morning, Tai Jones wears dark jeans and a white shirt with something labeled 'grumpy cat' while Angelique Reyes has a – apron? He remembers a woman with a _comforting_ voice saying that word. Angelique Reyes has a bright purple apron over yellow, soft-looking trousers and a black blouse. Last night, they looked – almost like handlers. This morning… they look like civilians. Kind.

"Take a seat," Tai Jones says. "It's gotta cool. You want some milk?"

His last handler once asked him that. No – multiple times.

Once, he remembers now, ducking his head, he had said _no._ The punishment for that malfunction was swift and severe and they made sure he kept it.

But that handler is dead. The televisions spoke of nothing else for five days. That handler is dead and he will allow no more punishments.

"Honey?" Tai Jones says gently.

He answers firmly, "Yes, I want milk." He lifts his head to meet her dark eyes, so unlike that handler's, for nearly three breaths before he looks back at the platter of cinnamon rolls. Steam rises. His mouth still waters.

"Well, sit on down, I'll pour you some," Tai Jones says with a smile. He obeys. His _belly_ settles. The handler is dead.

"Oh, honey, that's a beautiful smile," Tai Jones says. "There's a gorgeous guy beneath that beard, huh?" She holds out a mug of milk and he takes it, ducking his head again. He _is_ smiling. He continues smiling as he sips the milk.

He enjoys the smoothness, _savors_ it. It is cool and thick on his tongue.

"Alright, corazón, come pick your cinnamon roll and we'll eat," Angelique Reyes says. He looks from the empty mug and Angelique Reyes is smiling at him. "You're the guest," she continues. "Come choose."

He stands and carries the mug to Tai Jones. He cannot request more but Tai Jones takes the mug. "Pick your roll," she murmurs. "I'll bring your refill to you."

Angelique Reyes steps to the side, holding a plastic implement. She holds out a small plate. "Choose and I'll get it for you," she says.

He stares down at the platter. There are an even dozen of – cinnamon rolls are some kind of spiraling bread? With white icing that has partially melted. There is one in the middle that he _wants._ But when he goes to say the words, he cannot. He – the handlers give him what he is to have, and when he has stolen, no one witnessed. But he is here and they are not handlers. He chose his food last night. Why –

"It's alright, corazón," Angelique Reyes murmurs. "Choose the one you want."

He points. Angelique Reyes uses the plastic implement to scoop the cinnamon roll up and place it on the plate. He feels his muscles relax; the left arm recalibrates as he walks back to the table to sit where the mug of milk has been set. He stares at the cinnamon roll while Angelique Reyes serves two more plates. "Coffee," she tells Tai Jones, who brings both a mug of a dark, steaming liquid with a sharp smell and a glass of orange juice. Tai Jones also has three forks and she offers one to him, which he carefully takes.

Angelique Reyes sits down across from him and Tai Jones to his right. "So, I told you last night I'm a social worker," Tai Jones says. "You know what that means?"

He knows the definition of the words when they are separate, but not the meaning together. He shakes his head, eyes on his cinnamon rolls, which he is methodically unwinding.

"Alright, well, there are lots of kinds," she says. He does not look up as she continues, "I used to work at a clinic, helpin' people who had various disorders, and sometimes the police would call me for help. I run a program now, tryin' to get the word out about what mental health care actually means. Sometimes, though, I still get called in for testimony at court."

The cinnamon roll is completely unwound. He neatly slices a piece, spears it with the fork, and puts it in his mouth, where he lets it sit for a moment. Everything in his head quiets as he thinks, _The hell is this? It's amazing_. He stares down at the remaining cinnamon roll, wanting to shove the entire thing in his mouth. Instead, he cuts off another slice.

He realizes, as he steadily works his way through the rest of the roll that Tai Jones has fallen silent. He looks up; both Tai Jones and Angelique Reyes are watching him. He ceases all motion.

"No, honey, it's alright. We're just... enjoyin' your enthusiasm." Tai Jones – is not smiling. Is grinning? There is a difference but he does not recall what that difference is. Angelique Reyes is smiling brightly.

"Feel free to get another," Angelique Reyes says. "Please. The more you eat, the less there are to tempt me."

He blinks down at the plate, where only cinnamon roll crumbs remain. He can have _another._

He stands and gets another cinnamon roll.

.

Angelique Reyes is a baker; she has her own business which creates many different kinds of desserts. The business is two-fold, she explains as he unwinds his third cinnamon roll: there is a shop in Hilldale and she also has a class she teaches that is in a different city every four months. She laughs and says, "I was also on a Halloween Wars two years ago," though of course that means nothing to him.

"You know what Halloween Wars is?" Tai Jones asks.

"No," he says.

Angelique Reyes says, "It's a contest with cake decorators, pumpkin carvers, and candy makers. My team came in second." She describes sculptures of cake and sugar and pumpkin as he slowly finishes the third cinnamon roll, and though he knows (or can guess) what all the words mean, he cannot visualize any of it. "It's alright, corazón," she says. "We have it saved to the DVR; I can show you, later."

He sets down his fork. They are both looking at him; Angelique Reyes turns her head to look at Tai Jones. "I'll go clean the mess up," she says. "Let the two'a you talk."

"Thank you, Angel," Tai Jones says. Angelique Reyes stands, gathers up all three plates and forks, and goes to the kitchen.

He looks down at his hands, both resting on the table, palms down. He shivers.

"So, you know about us, now, a little," Tai Jones finally says, that gentle tone that civilians use for dogs. Before last night, it had never been used for him.

No. Didn't the target… _Oh, god, Bucky. I thought you were dead._

No. That would not have – it never happened. The target was a target. Now, the target is the only person whose life he has ever preserved instead of exterminating.

"Honey? You here with me?" Tai Jones asks.

He blinks. "Yes," he answers.

"Okay, that's good. Can you tell me anything about yourself? I know you don't want to hurt people. You know how to work faucets. You like barbeque and love cinnamon rolls. You have a very expensive prosthetic, which tells me quite a few things." He lifts his gaze to her mouth, which is smiling. Again. Still. Does she ever not smile?

"Do you know what your arm tells me, sweetie?"

"No," he says quietly.

"It tells me that at some point you must've had money, or underwent experimental treatment – which, since you were a fighter, once, could've been part of your service." He gazes back at his hands; his thumbs are touching. He can only feel the touch on the right side. "You were valuable. That you're now on the street, that tells me more things."

On missions, he knows what to do, what to say. Here, he is – confused. He does not like it.

"Do you know your name?" Tai Jones asks.

He could say, "Winter Soldier." He could say, "The Asset." He could say, "James Buchanan Barnes." The target called him, "Bucky" like there was nothing more important in the world. In his memories, the small man calls him, "Bucky" and "Buck" and "Jerk" and sometimes, "Sweetheart." He thinks that might a dream, though. Not a – a memory.

"Why do you want my name?" he dares to question. His fingers dig into the table; the arm tries to reset. He can feel his muscles trembling and his belly hurts.

"Unless you wanna tell me, I don't want to know," Tai Jones says. "But I'd like to know that you know."

"Yes," he says firmly. "I know."

"Okay, that's good," Tai Jones says. "Now, do you know what you want?"

… want? Warm showers. The small man who was once so important. Hydra in pieces and burnt to ash. Cinnamon rolls. The fish on every wall. The man who called him by _that_ name.

"… yes?" he answers.

Tai Jones sighs. "Is there anywhere that you can go to stay out of the cold?"

His hiding place is no longer secure. His supplies are gone. There is no small man waiting at home with food and body contact. His handlers had body contact with him like that sometimes, but he knows that – the small man was good, like Tai Jones is good. His handlers were… not. Not good. They hurt. They used him to hurt others. They used…

His body is trembling. Tai Jones is speaking – but there is only darkness and –

.

He wakes up. He is huddled in the corner of the dining room and Tai Jones is sitting cross-legged out of reach. He could still reach her easily, of course. Kill her in a blink, go to Angelique Reyes, who is sitting further away. Kill their neighbors. Kill everyone on the block.

_He does not want to._

He breathes.

"You back with us, honey?" Tai Jones asks.

"Yes," he says. She had asked a question. He did not answer. Instead he –

He remembers what he remembered and he turns away from the thought. He says, "I want a warm shower" and raises his gaze enough to see Tai Jones – grinning. Yes. It is not a smile, but it is not _not_ a smile either, and he once knew… so many things he does not know now. But he will learn. Because he is – not the asset. Not Bucky, either. And he does not like the way Barnes sounds in his head. He once slept in a barn for three consecutive days and nights, waiting for his handlers to extract him. He had a shattered leg. Three shattered ribs that healed before the extraction. He kept calling for – the small man. The small man did not come. But his handlers heard.

"Well, then, go take a shower," Tai Jones says.

He stands and carefully walks around them. In the doorway to the hall, he pauses. His right hand is clenched. The arm resets. His body is trembling but his breath is steady.

"My name," he says, "is James." Before he has to face either of their reactions, he hurries to the bathing facility, where he rests his forehead on the brightest fish and breathes and breathes and breathes.

Angelique Reyes and Tai Jones are speaking in Spanish; he hears but does not listen. He steps away from the wall, strips off the soft trousers and soft shirt, and turns on the water as hot as it will go.


	3. Afternoon 1

So. I've had this written since November. I was talking about this fic to someone and she explained how I'd gotten the baking wrong. I thought about rewriting with accurate baking practices; I even started to. But it took away from James' healing, which is what this fic is about.

So I'm gonna go ahead and post. If the lack of baking accuracy offends you, pretend the reality is even more AU than superheroes make it.

This 'verse might just be for fluff and healing, when I need to write something sweet.

* * *

He redresses in the same clothing. Tai Jones is talking on a phone; Angelique Reyes is flipping channels on the television. Tai Jones is arguing - _James_ focuses on the other side of the conversation. A man speaks about a case. A trial going poorly.

"Okay, Rob, I'll come in," Tai Jones sighs. "I don't understand how you've managed to fuck up this badly, but that kid doesn't deserve to suffer for it. One o'clock?"

"Thank you, Tai," Rob says. "Half past noon, if you can swing it."

Tai Jones sighs again. "Well, I have to, don't I."

James touches the brightest fish and opens the door. He walks down the hall to the – the – room with the television. Angelique Reyes is on the couch with Tai Jones lying down beside her, head on a pillow on Angelique Reyes' lap.

"Did you have a nice shower?" Angelique Reyes asks.

Tai Jones sits up. "James," she says, "there's been an emergency. I'd planned on taking the day, talking more with you, trying – " She presses her lips together. "I don't know how long I'll be gone. It's possible I won't be back until late tonight."

James' gaze goes from Tai Jones' chin to Angelique Reyes' and then to the floor. He has nowhere else to go but he will not –

"Where are my clothes?" he asks. He won't take Tai Jones' things.

"The laundry room," Tai Jones says. "Why?"

"May I – " He takes a deep breath. Licks his lips. Clenches his fingers into fists. "May I take a cinnamon roll with me?"

"Oh, baby," Tai Jones says, "just because I'm leaving for the day doesn't mean you can't stay here. Tonight's gonna be even colder. We're not gonna kick you out."

His eyes stay on the floor. Angelique Reyes sighs. "How about this?" she says. "While Tai kicks major ass, I'll teach you how to make cinnamon rolls. And monkey bread. I'm pretty sure you'll like monkey bread."

He knows what the word 'monkey' and the word 'bread' mean, and due to context, he knows it must be some kind of food. Probably similar to cinnamon rolls.

James also knows he must pull his weight somehow. He was useful to the handlers in a variety of ways, even when not on a mission. And the small man – he had been useful to the small man, too. But he does not know how to ask, and he does not _want_ to leave.

So he simply says, "Yes."

"Alright, now that's sorted," Tai Jones says, standing, "I'm gonna go take a shower and then review my notes." She makes a noise of annoyance. "It was such a simple case! Fuckin' Rob." She leans down to kiss Angelique Reyes on the lips and then walks past James with a smile. He turns his head to watch her go past the guestroom to the large room at the end of the hall, where she closes the door.

"Hey, corazón," Angelique Reyes calls to him. "Wanna watch my episodes of Halloween Wars before the baking lesson?"

"Yes," he decides. He walks to her and sits on the other end of the couch.

.

When the final episode is over, James surprises himself by saying, "You should have won!" Angrily. That's how he says it. Like a handler.

He's off the couch and huddled the furthest spot there is from Angelique Reyes that is still in the room because there is no running, no hiding. There is only submitting silently. He keeps his head down, his arms still.

"James?" she says. Hesitantly. She is a civilian, not a handler.

But.

He stays in the corner. Motionless.

Two hours ago, Tai Jones dropped a kiss on Angelique Reyes' head and said, "Off to the save day. I'll text when I'm on the way back." She had smiled at James. "Have fun, honey," she told him. Ordered. But… not an order? And he watched four episodes with Angelique Reyes, watched civilian experts create marvels out of _food,_ and it was more impressive than – than – any weapon he has ever been trained on, than any combat move he has ever made, and he was – was _invested,_ he wanted Angelique Reyes' team The Bone Crunchers to win because their designs were intricate, their execution flawless, and it was not their fault The Revoltin' Molten (what is that even) got the best pumpkin.

And now he has – raised his voice. Expressed emotion. There is always correction applied for such malfunctions. Swift. Severe. And he is allowed to keep it.

"James," Angelique Reyes says again firmly. "You are not in trouble. You've done nothing wrong, corazón. Now, how about you get up off that cold floor and we go make a fairy tale cake? That was your favorite, right?"

He draws his shoulders in, tries to become smaller. How obvious must he have been – unless. What if she is like Tai Jones, like The Telepath, and in his head? He wants… no one to be in his head but him, but he cannot request that. Cannot demand it.

"James," she repeats. "I swear to you, _you are safe._ It's just you and me here, and there is no way I could be a credible threat. You understand? Wherever you were before, you're not now."

He – forces out between gritted teeth, "In my head?"

He doesn't look up but she is quiet for a long, terrifying moment, and then Angelique Reyes mutters, "Fuck everything." He hears her move, loud footsteps, and then she is –

She is kneeling down within reach. She says, "I don't have abilities like Tai. I do have an ex-father who was a nasty piece of work and liked to take out his insecurities on his children, my older brothers and me." She sighs. He does not look up. Angelique Reyes, in that gentle tone that still – should never be used on the monster he is, she continues, "I thought it was my fault until Tai. She… it's her abilities or just a gift she has, of saying the right thing at the right moment, making everythin' seem like it might just be okay. The best day of my life was the day I met her."

He breathes. _He_ breathes. Lifts his gaze to her chin. To her nose. To her eyes. She is smiling but it is – sad.

There was a target. An old woman. She had said, "I knew they'd send someone, but you – you're so young. Why do you work for such monsters?"

The asset had not answered. Had raised the vial of poison to her lips. She had twisted her mouth in a way the asset did not recognize or know how to interpret and then parted her lips, drank the poison. She had died with her blue eyes focused on him.

The asset had not reported her words to the handlers; the asset had been wired with recording devices that revealed the omission.

James _hates_ them. The asset hated them, when left awake long enough to fully thaw. Once. It had happened once. Once was enough for them to learn.

"Snow White?" James says now, looking into Angelique Reyes' eyes. He remembers – he and the small man had seen a… like the television, but bigger. It had been the story of Snow White. The small man had been in awe. James had – had like the small man's reactions.

"Of course," Angelique Reyes says. "Now, how about you get off that floor."

He stands. She slowly rises to her feet as well, and is the first to look away. He breathes when her gaze releases him.

"What flavor should the cake be?" Angelique Reyes asks.

A Snow White cake. There was an apple…and the small man, he had liked apples? _No._ The small man ate them because they were healthy, and often, _he_ had acquired them on the way home from work. He had lied to the small man (who became a target? No, that is inaccurate. Yes?) about where the apples came from. The small man would not have approved? James shakes his head and looks back at Angelique Reyes, who is waiting far more patiently than any handler in his memory.

"Strawberry," he says, ducking his head again, remaining motionless. "For the apple."

"Alright, James," Angelique Reyes agrees. "C'mon, then. Let's bake a cake."

.

Baking a cake is simpler than any mission he has ever carried out. It is also – fun? The egg splatters because he cracks it too hard and some of the yolk and white gets into the plates on his left hand, but instead of – instead of being a malfunction, a _mistake_ deserving of correction _(punishment),_ he – he laughs. He looks at the egg dripping from his fingers and he _laughs._ Like a civilian.

(He has heard civilians laugh. It differs from the handlers.)

Angelique Reyes laughs, too, and hands him another egg. There is no punishment. He is gentler, this time.

.

"Okay, so, while that cooks, we'll assemble the icing," Angelique Reyes says. "What colors should we use?"

"Blue," he says immediately. "And red. And white."

She grabs small vials from the cabinet. "Any more?" she asks.

"No," he says.

"Okay," she says. "Now, James, this isn't gonna be as elaborate as anything on Halloween Wars, not for your first time." She looks up at him. He meets her eyes and then glances away. "You understand that, right? I don't have those kind of supplies here, but we can put a gorgeous scene on the icing. Okay?"

James nods. Licks his lips. Looks at the floor.

"What is it?" Angelique Reyes asks.

"Can you… that moment when she's dead. Before the prince saves her." He _does not_ flinch away. Angelique Reyes will not hurt him. Does not _want_ to hurt him.

"That sounds good," Angelique Reyes says. "Let's do it."

.

Once the icing is prepared and the cake is ready, Angelique Reyes directs him. Her words do not feel like orders – guidance. Is that the proper term? Like – once, he thinks, once he guided the small man – but they both were boys, the man even _smaller,_ so fragile, so – so _precious._ Yes. To be guarded and protected. But.

But also to follow. To stand beside and back-to-back. The small man was _hisb'h_ and he was the small man's, and what was his name? The museum – he had not believed, at the museum. In all the days and nights since, in all the dreams and memories –

He has been aware for around 240 days (the first few are unclear). The majority of those days (200) were devoted solely to eradicating his handlers. The rest, he watched civilians, studying and filing away how they moved, how they spoke, how they interacted with each other and the environment. He has yet to use the intelligence. He knows it is fear, a weakness he did not have before the failed mission. Before – the small man became the only target whose life he preserved.

"James?" Angelique Reyes sounds – concerned? Not afraid – he knows that tone. "James, back with me?"

"Yes," he answers. "Guide me." He meets her eyes. "How does – icing a cake work?" He hesitates on the unfamiliar phrasing but Angelique Reyes smiles at him.

"Okay, so, first take the plain white frosting," she says. "Cover the whole cake, including the sides. Make it smooth."

He carefully picks up the icing implement and slides it into the bowl, stirring it around. He lifts it out and pivots to examine the cake. It is pale red – pink? Yes, pink – and he carefully lowers the implement covered in white icing onto the top. He spreads the frosting and it is – soothing. The repetitive motion. He only ever maintained his weapons in the field and it was soothing, too. He would fade away, go into his head. Once his handlers realized that, he was no longer sent out long enough to need to maintain his own weapons. He – has just realized that, now. So many things. So many… years.

"James? That part's done, corazón," Angelique Reyes says.

He – _pauses,_ lifting the implement away from the cake. Most of the icing is gone from the bowl; the pink cake has been entirely covered. It is, "Pretty," he murmurs. He wants to touch it, to trace his fingers – instead, he turns to face Angelique Reyes. "What next?" he asks.

"Now," she says, "let's outline the princess." She holds out a small container of tiny sticks.

James chooses one and looks back at the cake.

"Near the edge, I think, James," Angelique Reyes says. "Trace Snow White's dress."

He tilts his head, visualizing the flow of Tai Jones' skirt last night, how it flared around her feet. His right hand sketches on the icing the way he knows he once did before – the asset. When he was with the small man. He sketches the dress and he visualizes – he knew a woman once. Her hair was like the flash of flame, and she –

The small stick splinters in his hand.

She was part of the failed mission – no, the mission before the failed mission. When he –

He –

"James?"

He had _remembered_ — and the handler took it away. But the target –

No. He has a name.

"James, corazón, can you hear me?"

The target. The small man. _Precious._

James blinks. Angelique Reyes is standing before him. There are small flares of pain in his right hand.

"What color for Snow White's dress?" he asks Angelique Reyes, meeting her gaze.

Angelique Reyes stares at him for eight breaths. Then she nods. "How about red?"

Red, James thinks. Like _her_ hair.

He picks up the icing implement and frowns at the white fluff still coating it. He glances at Angelique Reyes then the sink, and goes to it, washes the implement, and then grabs the bowl of dark red icing. He had finished the dress and the body before – he shakes his head, dips the implement in the icing, follows Angelique's instructions to scoop the icing into a small bag with a nozzle at the end, and begins to fill in the dress. It requires more concentration because he must stay within the lines yet still keep it smooth.

James finishes the dress and looks at the outline of the princess's neck and head. He sets down the bag of red icing and grabs another tiny stick and sketches her arms, crossed over her – belly. He feels his lips move and realizes he's smiling. He retrieves the red icing and gives the princess lips.

Once he's satisfied, he washes the implement again and looks at Angelique Reyes. "What of the blue?"

She is smiling at him. "Where do you think the blue should go?" she asks, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms, tilting her chin up. Smiling.

He looks back at the princess. "Blue hair," he decides. "And eyes." He scoops up some of the blue, puts it into the bag, and gives the princess blue hair and eyes. The hair reveals where her head is, though it is still a bit unclear, since the background is white. He is unsure how to – repair it? No. Correct it? No. iFix/i. Yes. He is unsure how to fix it. He glances at the three colors he has. Perhaps – adding white to the red would change it. Soften it? Lighten it? Lessen it? He glances at his right hand. It is not truly _white,_ like the icing. He does not know –

Angelique Reyes is still watching him. He glances at her briefly and then holds up his hand. "What color is this?" he asks.

"Sort of a peach," she answers. "Do you remember the way Snow White was described?"

James stares at his hand, trying – "Lips red as the rose," he says. "Hair black as ebony. Skin… skin white as snow?" Well. "Her hair is blue," he says, looking back at Angelique Reyes. "Is… is that an error?"

She shakes her head. "It's your cake, James. You can do anything you want with it."

His. Anything he wants with it. He stares down at the icing, then back at Snow White. There are empty bowls on the counter, and spoons. He uses one spoon for three – scoops. No. _Dollops._ What the hell is a dollop? It – there is a woman in his memory, dark hair, sad blue eyes. And she measured in dollops. There are girls with her at the counter, a – lesson. In cooking? They all have blue eyes and dark hair. They are –

_Becca. Livy. Jules_.

No. It is… speculation. A fiction. Here, now, he must decide on the icing. Not – flights of fancy.

So. He puts three _dollops_ of white icing into a bowl with three idollops/i of red icing and uses the spoon with red to stir and stir and stir until it is a pink that matches the inside of the cake. Light. It, too, is "Pretty," he murmurs, and then scoops it into a smaller bag with a tiny nozzle and gives Snow White her skin.

There must be an apple. He utilizes another of the tiny sticks and outlines a large apple on the other side of the cake but – it must have a bite missing. He _fixes_ the image and then grabs the bag of red icing; there is not enough, so he adds more and then carefully fills in the apple. He uses one of the tiny sticks to make the silhouette of the bite and closely examines the finished product to ascertain its satisfactoriness.

It is – satisfactory. No. It is _pleasing._ And he is smiling. He brings his right hand up to trace the twist of his lips. Smiling is… also pleasing. He adds it to the list of things he likes, with the fish on the walls, cinnamon rolls, sculptures of cake and pumpkin, and the small man.

He steps back to take in the entire cake. Snow White is dead, red dress, blue hair and eyes, pink skin on her arms and neck and face. She's waiting for her prince to come wake her up.

"Is it done, corazón?" Angelique Reyes asks, stepping up beside him to examine the cake.

There is the apple. There is Snow White. Between them, there is an expanse of white icing. "Yes," he says. He does not – he reaches to touch the icing but pulls his hand back.

"Let's let it set," Angelique Reyes says. "_Snow White_ is one of Tai's niece's favorite movies, so we have a copy. Wanna watch it?"

He looks away from the cake. "Yes."

.

For every scene, there is a memory in his mind. He hears the small man's muttered comments, remembers gasps of shock and awe.

When it is over, he asks Angelique Reyes, "Is there more?"

"Well, there's _Snow White and the Huntsman_," she says. "And a sequel by a completely different company that – well, it's awful, but Francie loves it, too, so we also have a copy." She smiles at him. "Wanna watch it?"

He nods. "Please."

Angelique Reyes goes over to their bookcase full of DVDs and grabs a box with a bright over; he reads _Happily Ever After_ and assumes that to be the title. He is proven right as the film starts.

None of the scenes call up memories. He is enthralled in the story and greatly enjoys Thunderella – she reminds him of the small man. He thinks. There is surely no other reason he would – would _root_ for her. Root? Is that not – a part of plants?

He turns to ask Angelique Reyes. "What is _root?"_

"Well," she says, leaning back into the cushion and bringing her legs up to curl in front of her, "it's the part of trees and flowers that goes into the ground to provide nourishment anchor them. Does that make sense?"

He nods because that is familiar. "But," he asks hesitantly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye before focusing back on the movie, where a very inaccurately-portrayed bird is flying, "what – if I _root_ for someone?"

She chuckles. "It means you're on their side. You want them to win."

That fits, as well. He _rooted_ for the small man (the name the name, no, don't think it - _I don't know him I don't know him_).

The film ends. It is – nearly dinnertime, he thinks, looking at the clock on the wall. Which makes no sense, of course, because he was fed only at the start of missions and before being put into storage. He ate whenever he could after the mission he failed. But now.

Now he is hungry. He glances at Angelique Reyes, watching as she pulls the disk out of the player to put it away. "Do you have any preferences for dinner?" she asks. "We have leftover barbeque, or stuff for sandwiches, or we could make something new, if you'd like."

He remembers – "Stew?" he asks.

Angelique Reyes nods. "We have roast in the freezer. We can definitely turn it into stew, if you want. With rice?"

He nods again.

She smiles. "Well, then, c'mon. We can watch _Snow White and the Huntsman_ on Netflix while it cooks."

James follows her to the kitchen.


	4. Night 2

Note: I don't know if beef stew varies between states, but this is how I remember my mom making it.

Another note: pretend that Eric the Huntsman does not look exactly like Thor, please and thank you.

* * *

Angelique Reyes leans against the counter, smiling at James. He glances from her to the cake, resting on the dining table beneath its cover, and then to the refrigerator. "So, beef stew," Angelique Reyes says. "You know the ingredients?"

They roll off his tongue easily, like he is listing ammunition for an upcoming mission: "Onions, potatoes, celery, carrots," he says. He even – knows what they look like? He knows but does not know how or why.

She nods. "Okay, you get those from the fridge and the cabinet while I pull out the meat."

He goes to the cabinets first, searching for potatoes and onions. Once he has acquired them from one of the lower shelves, he sets them on the counter (three of each, all that was stored) and turns to the refrigerator. He knows it will be cold and so he prepares himself for opening the door.

It is - not cold. Cool, instead. Pleasant. He starts at the top shelf and works his way down, seeking celery and carrots. He finds the celery on the middle shelf, closest to the wall. The carrots are on the lowest level, inside a drawer. He grabs all of both and gently closes the door before placing the celery and carrots with the potatoes and onions.

Angelique Reyes takes a container of meat from the freezer (which is far colder than the refrigerator) and puts it in a medium-sized box, hits a sequence of buttons, and turns to the pile James has formed from the ingredients. She separates them, keeping all three potatoes and five of the carrots, but tearing two larger pieces from the celery and putting back all but one of the onions. "Do you know how to chop celery?" she asks.

James shakes his head. Angelique Reyes gestures to him. "Well, c'mon, corazón, you're gonna learn."

She grabs a thin sheet of plastic from one of the lower cabinets full of cooking implements and sets it on the counter. "Okay," she says, "first we wash 'em all." She grabs the potatoes and onion, so James takes the celery and carrots. She turns on the sink faucet and gently runs each vegetable under the water, leaving the water on for James so he washes the celery and carrots. When he returns to Angelique Reyes' side (after turning the knob back so that water ceases running), she is holding a large knife – pulled from the rack beside the refrigerator. He had noted it, as he notes everything. And now Angelique Reyes has a knife in her hand.

He breathes slowly, drawing his gaze from the knife to Angelique Reyes' wrist, up her arm to her throat, and finally her eyes. She is still, gaze on him.

"We're doin' alright, yeah, corazón?" she asks softly. Her grip is loose on the knife. She is no threat.

He breathes. _In and out, Stevie, I know you can do it, match it to mine, doll, breathe for me._ He breathes. Unclenches his fists. Loosens his shoulders.

He can see Angelique Reyes relax.

"We are doing well," James says. No. That sounds – "We're doin' good," he says. "How do I chop celery?"

Angelique Reyes chuckles, though it sounds – relieved. Nervous? "Come stand beside me and watch," she says. She aligns the celery stalk parallel to the edge of the plastic sheet. "First," she says, "we cut off both ends." The flared end first, then the top with its little branches. "Next," she says, "we slice it long ways." She slides the blade throughout the length, dividing the stalk into two pieces. "And now," she says, "we cut it into bite-sized chunks." She quickly yet carefully does.

Angelique Reyes steps back with a murmured, "Ta da!" Then she smiles up at James. "Now you." She uses the knife to clear the plastic sheet, brushing the chunks onto the counter, and then offers it to him.

James steps up to the plastic sheet and sets the remaining stalk parallel to the edge. He smoothly removes the ends, slices the stalk directly down the middle, and then flips the knife to cut the stalk into chunks. He sets the knife on the counter, ducking his head.

"Very good," Angelique Reyes says. "Now, the carrots." She settles beside him, pulling the carrots onto the sheet with one hand and brushing the celery onto the counter with the other. "So, five big carrots," she says. "I wish we had baby carrots but the store was out." She scoffs. "Anyway, these should be bigger than the celery pieces." She picks up the knife and offers it to him.

James analyzes the size of the celery chunks and begins to slice the carrots into pieces exactly twice the size of the largest celery piece.

He is on the third carrot when a sharp, high sound fills the kitchen – it originates from behind him. He carefully does not react because his reaction would be to kill whoever was closest. Instead, he _breathes,_ closing his eyes and counting to ten in English, Spanish, and Russian. There is no threat here. There is not.

Angelique Reyes has pulled the meat from the box (the box made the noise?), torn the plastic wrap off, pulled a large pot from the cabinet, and set it on – on the _istove/i._ The comforting voice from the memories, she had called it that. It looks differently than in the memories.

"I forgot to pre-heat the pot," Angelique Reyes says. She pulls a bottle labeled _vegetable oil_ from the upper cabinet above the stove and drops a _dollop_ in, also turning a knob to the side of the stove. "Anyway, let's do the rest of the veggies while it heats."

James finishes the carrots and Angelique Reyes says, "Put 'em with the celery," plopping the potatoes on the sheet. "Okay, so while I grab the spices, you chop the potatoes in halfs and then fourths."

She begins pulling jars down while James examines the first potato. Halfs, then fourths. Angelique Reyes names off, "Garlic powder, salt, pepper, bay leaves," holding up each for him to see, and then she returns the rest of the spices to the cabinet. She sets the jars aside, checks that James has adequately chopped the potatoes, and tells him, "Lookin' good."

James slides the potatoes over to the celery and carrots, and Angelique Reyes says, "Now for the onion." She sets her fingers on it and says, "Cutting this up is going to make our eyes water, James. Don't worry about it. The onion needs to be diced smaller than anything else and if it's bothering you too much to finish, just tell me so. Alright?"

"Yes," he says.

"Okay, so," Angelique Reyes says, setting the onion on the middle of the plastic sheet, "first we cut off both ends." Neatly and quickly, she does. "Then we unpeel the first layer and dice the rest." She steps away, so James cuts the onion into halfs, then fourths, and then quickly slices it into pieces smaller than the celery.

"Perfect," Angelique Reyes says as he sets down the knife. "Now, let's put everything but the potatoes in a bowl together and cover it with a damp paper towel." As he carefully gathers them together, Angelique Reyes runs a paper towel underneath the faucet.

"Go head, put 'em all in the bowl," Angelique Reyes says, returning to the stove. "It's time to start browning the meat."

The sound of the meat hitting the bottom of the pot makes James flinch. He does not know why. He shudders for a few moments, listening to the meat sizzle in the heat but the more he listens, the – better? The sound is no longer so jarring. Disturbing. It is – almost pleasant. Angelique Reyes gestures him over, so he stands beside her to stare down into the pan. "We need to brown all sides," she says. "Then we add enough cans of beef broth to fully cover it – can you get them from the pantry?"

The pantry is full of cans, arranged alphabetically. James grabs four cans labeled _beef broth_ and carries them over. "Open them, please," Angelique Reyes requests, turning the meat again. James uses his right hand to pull the cans open, carefully discarding the tops on another counter. "Okay, let's pour them in," she says, grabbing one of the cans. "Until the meat is fully covered," she repeats.

All four cans are utilized. "Now we add the spices," Angelique Reyes says. "Go ahead, add as much as you want."

James looks at her briefly before gazing at the four jars of spice. "These are leaves?" he asks, picking up the jar labeled _bay leaves_.

"Yes. A couple of them should work." He does not know the tone she uses, but it seems – good. He flicks open the top of the jar and gently shakes two leaves out, then drops them in the pot. After closing the jar, he sets it down and picks up the one next to it: _garlic powder_.

He is to add as much as he wants. He flicks open the top, angles it over the pot, and gently shakes for five seconds before closing the jar and setting it down. A quick, covert glance to Angelique Reyes show that she is smiling, which means he must be doing well. He next adds the salt and finally the pepper.

"Now," Angelique Reyes says, "we stir." She grabs a large wooden – paddle? No, too small. And not the right shape for a spoon. Whatever it is, she uses it to mix the spices into the broth. "We'll wait for this to boil," Angelique Reyes tells him, "and then we'll add in the vegetables and potatoes, letting it simmer awhile."

Angelique Reyes turns away from the stove and assesses the kitchen from one counter to the other. "We should straighten up while waiting," she says. "Go ahead and add the empty cans to the recycling bin over near the door; I'll start loading the dish washer."

Once the cans have been deposited, Angelique Reyes directs James in which utensils to hand her as she places them in a machine designed solely to clean them. Such a thing does not exist in his memory, and – he does not know why, but the woman in the apron, with her dark hair and blue eyes, she would love this machine. Angelique Reyes starts the machine and says, "Let's check the broth."

The broth is bubbling fiercely; Angelique Reyes nods. "Slowly add the vegetables," she directs and so James does, carefully angling the bowl over the liquid. Angelique Reyes drops the potatoes in and then says, "Okay, corazón, stir it a bit." As he does, slowly moving the small paddle through the pot, he inhales and it is - _James Barnes, don't you dare lift that lid!_

"Smells good," he murmurs as Angelique Reyes turns down the heat.

"Yes, it does," she agrees, setting the top onto the pot. "C'mon, let's go find the movie on Netflix and let it cook awhile."

.

James carefully curls up on the couch as Angelique Reyes searches Netflix for a live-action picture – no, _movie,_ she has called it a movie. Pictures are things that do not move. It is a retelling of Snow White with actors instead of animation.

"It's a bit violent, now," Angelique Reyes cautions and James nods. He is no stranger to violence but he knows that for play-acting, it is simulated. Play-acting is different from training.

… when did he play?

It doesn't matter. Angelique Reyes begins the movie, so James gives the television most of his attention. Periodically throughout it, Angelique Reyes goes to the kitchen to check on the stew, and while the princess and her childhood friend are walking through the woods, Angelique Reyes calls, "Wanna help me with the rice?"

James pauses the movie.

.

"So, can you get two cups of rice into this pot?" Angelique Reyes asks, nodding towards a smaller pot on a different burner than the stew.

There is a bag of rice on the counter and James remembers where the measuring cups are, so he swiftly doles out two cups of rice.

"Now, the trick to rice," Angelique says, bringing the pot to the counter by the sink, "is that however much you have, you need twice the water. So, two cups of rice means four cups of water." She turns the water on and holds the cup measure under it till full, then dumps it into the pot. She counts out three more, turns off the water, and sets the pot back on the stove. "Get a clean spoon," she says, "and let's stir the rice. It's easy to burn the bottom layer."

James stirs the rice while Angelique Reyes checks the stew, and then she smiles at him. "Go on back to the movie," she says. "It's about to get exciting."

.

Angelique Reyes is correct about the movie: the princess's childhood friend is actually her evil stepmother in disguise but the movie does end happily, with Snow White crowned and her realm set free from tyranny. While James gets up simply because he can, Angelique Reyes says, "The rice is almost done. How about you come test the stew?"

By 'test the stew' Angelique Reyes means that he check the meat, so he pokes it with the small paddle, and then spears it with a fork. He glances at Angelique Reyes, but she is smiling, so he continues. He goes to the cabinet that houses the thin sheets of plastic and sets one on the counter beside the stew pot, carefully pulls the chunk of meat out, shakes it lightly the relieve it of the excess liquid, and sets it on the plastic sheet. James pulls a knife from the knife drawer, checks that Angelique Reyes is still pleased with his actions, and slices into the meat.

"How's it look?" she asks.

_Smells good, Stevie. How soon 'til we can eat?_

"It is not cooked all the way," James says. "But…" He bites at his lip, ducks his head.

"But what, James?" Angelique Reyes says. Her tone is – kind.

"Wouldn't it –" He turns, raises his gaze to her mouth. "Wouldn't it cook faster in smaller pieces?"

Her mouth smiles. "Yes," she says. "It would. Go ahead and slice it, drop the pieces back in." He carefully cuts the meat into bite-sized pieces, returns them to the pot, stirs it, and replaces the top.

"If you're not tired of Snow White yet," Angelique Reyes says, moving the pot of rice to another burner and turning off the hot one, "there's a comedy retelling we could watch while the stew finishes cooking."

"Please," James says.

.

_Mirror Mirror_ is quite humorous. James laughs – the first time, he stops immediately, shying back into the cushion, but Angelique Reyes does not react. The second time, James stops immediately and waits, but again Angelique Reyes does not react. The third time – the third time, he lets himself laugh. And the fourth. And the fifth. After the sixth, he stops counting and simply enjoys the movie.

After the princess finds the dwarves, Angelique Reyes goes to check on the stew. She returns with a bowl of rice and stew, which she holds out to James. "Try it," she says. "Let me know if it's done."

He carefully takes the bowl, uses the fork to collect some rice and a piece of meat, and exhales before setting it all in his mouth. He chews and –

_You did good, Steve. Tastes like Ma's._

"s'delicious," James says, quickly eating the rest.

Handlers would've smacked the asset. Would've – but he is not with handlers, now. He is not the asset, now.

He is James and Angelique Reyes laughs softly, returning to the kitchen. "Come get some dinner," she calls. "We can eat and watch the movie."

James pauses the movie and stands. Angelique Reyes has her own bowl, which she is serving stew into, and a glass of dark bubbly liquid. "Diet Coke," she says. "Without the caffeine, otherwise I won't be able to sleep. Wanna try it?"

He is familiar with milk, with water. He knows that civilians drink carbonated beverages. "No, thank you," he says. He would rather stick with water for now.

"Alright," Angelique Reyes says. "You know where the cups are; get whatever you want." She takes her own bowl and glass, returning to the room with the television.

James fills a glass with water, fills the bowl with stew and rice, and returns to the couch. He glances at Angelique Reyes, but she is focused on her stew, so he restarts the movie. He eats the bowl of stew and then just holds it, watching the movie. "You can get more, if you're still hungry," Angelique Reyes says after a few minutes.

He gets more. And then more after that.

"It was good stew, James," Angelique Reyes tells him as the credits begin, after the happy ending. "You should be proud." He glances at her quickly before looking back at the screen. "What do you want to do now?" she asks.

"Are there more…" He glances towards the kitchen, where the cake still sits on the table. "Like Halloween Wars?"

"Baking shows? Yeah, of course." She calls up the menu screen. "Any of these sound appealing?"

James reads through the list and then murmurs, "Holiday Baking Championship?"

Angelique Reyes laughs. "It's the Christmas version," she explains. "They're on week 4, but Tai has a crush on one of the judges, so we haven't deleted any of it yet." She leans back against the cushion and folds her legs in front of her. "You ready?" James nods, so she goes to the first episode.

.

It is after 2200 when Tai Jones returns. She is moving slowly and James stays seated on the couch, holding the book Angelique Reyes said he might enjoy, while Angelique Reyes greets her at the door. "Hey, babe, let me get that bag," she says. "How'd it go?"

"If that boy's life is ruined because of Rob," Tai Jones says, "I will get his ass fired and then blacklisted. My god, it's a complete FUBAR, Angel." She turns the corner, sees James, and smiles. "Hey, honey, how was your day?"

James – smiles. He smiles and he says, "We baked a cake."

"Did you now?" Tai Jones asks, smiling again. Still.

"We made stew," James adds. He should – stand. Shouldn't he? That is what men do when – ladies _(dames)_ enter. Men stand. So he sets the book about baking on the cushion and stands, arms loose at his sides.

"You eaten yet?" Angelique Reyes asks.

"No, we worked clear through supper. That stew sure smells good, though." Tai Jones rolls her shoulders back and James hears the joints pop. She sighs in – relief?

"Go sit down, put your feet up," Angelique Reyes says. "I'll bring you a bowl of stew. James," she says as she turns, setting down Tai Jones' bag, "why don't you tell her about the cake?"

James gets out of the way as Tai Jones moves towards the reclining chair on the other side of the couch. He has avoided the chair all day, tried not to even look at it, but he must, now, if that is where she sits. His task is to relay the facts of the cake, and he can, he _wants_ to – but she should not sit in that chair. It is –

"Hey, James, slow breaths," Tai Jones says. She inhales and exhales. "Like that, see? Can you tell me what the problem is?"

He glances at the chair and away, and hears Tai Jones sigh. "How about I sit on the couch?" Tai Jones says, and then does so. "Oh, that's nice," she mutters. "Now, what about that cake?"

James sits, too, turning so that he can focus on Tai Jones' chin as he relates all necessary information about the cake. Tai Jones listens, interrupting only to thank Angelique Reyes for the bowl of stew and glass of water, and Angelique Reyes leans on the arm rest, also listening.

James finishes his report (no, not _report)_ just as Tai Jones hands her empty bowl to Angelique Reyes. "I'd love to see this cake," she says. "James, may I?"

He nearly lifts his gaze to her eyes in his shock. She is asking permission? The asset –

But he is not the asset. He is James. "Yeah," he says roughly, rising to his feet.

.

The cake is - _Don't be so hard on yourself, Stevie, you're the only one who sees the mistakes._

"Oh, James, it's lovely!" Tai Jones says.

"I was thinkin'," Angelique Reyes says, "do you mind if I take a picture? I have a blog for brand-new bakers, with advice and stuff. I'd like to share this, if you don't mind." Her phone is in her hand.

James stares down at the cake. It is his, Angelique Reyes said so. His cake to do with as he wishes. They wait, Tai Jones and Angelique Reyes, and they are gentle and kind – and he does not know why. He is not useful enough for such unending patience.

"Yeah," he finally says. "I… don't mind."

Angelique Reyes takes four pictures and then asks, "Do you wanna cut into it, James?"

It – is the first good thing he has done, yes? Perhaps too pretty to destroy. Except. It is a cake, and cakes are for eating, so he takes the implement Angelique Reyes holds out and he carefully slices a square. Angelique Reyes has set three small plates on the table along with three forks, so James places the square onto the top plate, sets down the implement, and takes the plate to offer to Angelique Reyes. He cuts another square for Tai Jones, and then a final, smaller piece for himself.

"May I take another picture, James?" Angelique Reyes asks. "So that I have the contrast between the strawberry cake and the icing."

He nods, using the fork to extract a bit of cake. It is – sweet, and soft, like – at the fair, the sugar-spun colorful clouds, the small man used to laugh when the – no, not the asset, _Bucky Barnes_, the Howling Commando who died –

James blinks, realizing his entire piece of cake is gone. "It's good, honey," Tai Jones says. "Now, I don't know 'bout y'all, but I'm exhausted." She stretches her arms, arches her back. "I'll see you in the mornin', James," she says. She reaches out with her left hand and James remains entirely still. She retracts the arm. "I'll see you in the mornin'," she repeats, and carries her plate and fork to the sink, and leaves the kitchen.

"Do you want another piece?" Angelique Reyes asks. He shakes his head _no,_ the way he has civilians do, and Angelique Reyes replaces the covering on the cake. "I'm headin' to bed, too," she says. "You can stay up if you want – all the books on the bookcase are yours to read, or you can watch somethin'. Just try to keep the noise down; I've got to get up early and head into work." She places her plate and fork in the sink and then pauses in the doorway. "James," she says.

He turns his head toward her. "Please look at me," she says, so he does, glancing at her eyes and away. "I need to know if you don't want me uploading the pictures of the cake. I won't use your name."

"On your blog?" he asks.

Angelique Reyes nods. "It's about baking," she says. "Mistakes in the kitchen, or advice for beginners. I use pictures of actual cakes and stuff for illustrations."

"If not my name, what?" he asks, meeting her eyes again, before lowering his gaze to her nose.

"I can just call you 'my student,' if that's okay." She pauses and then adds, "Don't say yes because you know that's what I want to hear."

He looks at the cake, covered again, and then at his hands. This day, he has baked a _good_ cake and helped prepare _good_ beef stew. He has hurt no one; no one has hurt him.

"Yes," he says. "May I – see the blog, after?"

"Of course, corazón." Her voice is – warm. "Good night. I'll be headin' out early, so I probably won't see you till the afternoon." She steps through the doorway, and then back in to say, "I had fun today, James. Thank you."

Before he can respond _(how_ would he respond?) she is gone.

They are so - _good._ He can only repay them by being useful, so he unloads the dishwasher and reloads it, but does not start it. It is not full, and it is also noisy. After, he returns to the baking book; it has separate sections for each holiday and ideas for themed desserts. Angelique Reyes had said she would show him how to prepare some of them. He finishes the section on Easter, replaces the book on the shelf, relieves himself, brushes his teeth, changes into the sleep pants and soft shirt, and then settles onto the bed, pulling all three layers of blankets over him.

It was – a good day. The best day in his memory.

The small man _(Stevie?)_ would be happy, he thinks. _He_ is – warm and full, and the only thing that aches is his left shoulder, and nothing hurts, and so he must be happy. Is that it?

He hears the small man say, "Go to sleep, Buck." He closes his eyes.


End file.
